


heat is not the only kind of haze

by writevale



Series: and here you are making gold out of it [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, playful smacks with a paperback poetry compendium, pre-apocalypse cottage boyfriends, working class martin rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23129938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writevale/pseuds/writevale
Summary: Jon only wants to cook Martin something nice.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: and here you are making gold out of it [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657546
Comments: 36
Kudos: 331





	heat is not the only kind of haze

Jon taps his spatula against the side of the pan in time with the power chords in the song that is blaring out from the record player. In it, the orange-red hue of the curry simmers, almost ready for him to stir in the chicken he had cooked earlier. Daisy's safe house was better stocked than they had imagined. But she clearly hadn't thought to buy more than one pan. The mixture is hot against his little finger as he dips it in briefly before sucking the sauce from it with a satisfied hum. Jon has already eaten today - a dreadful statement of some poor girl who got on the wrong side of Simon Fairchild - but he can't help the rush of excitement and something a little like pride as he imagines what Martin is going to say when he tastes it. His old colleague and current - well, definitely _not_ colleague - is perched on the side of the kitchen counter next to the discarded chopping board with a book. Jon knows that he's been on the same page for the last twenty minutes because he can't resist sneaking looks over at Jon as he nods his head in time with the music and wiggles his hips a bit as he stirs. Not that he minds. The whole point of him cooking is that it's meant to be nice for Martin.

'Nearly there.' He warns as he tips the plate of cooked and perfectly spiced chicken into the sauce.

'Can't wait.' Martin says. Jon catches him pushing his glasses up his nose with his hand tucked into the sleeve of his jumper and it undoes something in his chest. He sets down the spatula and crosses the kitchen in one and a half steps until he is standing between Martin's legs. The other man lowers the book he's pretending to read and his smile turns a little shy. Jon lays his hands on Martin's thighs and pushes himself upwards to kiss the wind-chapped lips that have been distracting him all afternoon.

'I hope it's - you know - worth the wait.'

'It already smells better than anything I have even considered cooking in my entire life.' Martin grins sheepishly.

'Hm. Yes. Well, hopefully it's better than those awful ready meals you used to-' He's cut off as Martin raps his shoulder with the book. It's only a paperback.

'Needs must, Mr Sims.' He's blushing. 'And, anyway, ready meals are very nutritious. How else would I have got my . . . salt?' They both laugh at this. Happy little creases around their lips and tired eyes. Jon sneaks another peck, this one to Martin's cheek, before hurrying over to stir the pan.

He tastes it again. Pauses. It's nice but it lacks the burn that he would expect from a curry like this. He wants to lay the other flavours on a foundation of heat as if roasting them on embers. He doesn't want Martin to feel like he's made an assumption about how spicy he can handle his food just because his skin is so pale it almost hurts to look at him in bright lighting. _He did say he liked curry._ With a careful flick of his wrist, Jon sprinkles some more chilli powder into the sauce. Then a little more for good measure. He tastes it again. Nods.

‘Okay.’ He announces. Martin sets his book down on the counter and slips to his feet. Jon scoops a small portion of chicken and sauce onto a plate and presents it to Martin with a fork. ‘Try it.’

Martin blows it first. Something hard and tight clenches in Jon’s chest. ‘It’s very red.’ He comments. Which, now Jon thinks of it, should have been the first warning sign.

'Mm.' Martin says as he pops a forkful into his mouth. Jon watches his eyes go wide. 'Hm.' They bulge, green and pained. 'Ah. _Ah!'_ The plate is shoved unceremoniously back into his hands as Martin makes a dive for the fridge. He lands on the milk there and unscrews the cap, throwing it onto the counter carelessly.

'Martin?' Jon asks but the man is chugging the milk straight from the bottle, watching Jon with watery, sorrowful eyes.

'Sorry!' He says between gulps.

'What are you doing, man?'

'Spicy!' Is the next word Martin chokes out.

The slow dropping sensation of disappointment Jon feels is caught midway down his stomach by the clench of this diaphragm as Martin shoots him a look of pure apology and he laughs out loud.

'Martin,' He scoops up the remaining bit of chicken on the plate and consumes it behind a smirk, 'This is really _not spicy_.' His boyfriend's cheeks are performing an impressive imitation of the curry sauce. He wonders if they'd feel hot against his lips.

'Shut up!' Martin's glare suggests that he won't get to find out. 'Please, some water?'

Martin hits his shaking shoulders with the paperback twice before he laughs himself.

*****

Jon can't help but smile as he rests back on the sofa cushions, watching Martin next to him as he picks up a slice of the toast Jon had substituted for him. Their eyes meet. Martin winces and Jon nudges him with his foot.

'I should have known better.' He says at the same time as Martin mumbles:

'Sorry.'

Jon laughs. There's an unhappy crease above Martin's glasses and a sad pucker to his lips. Both demand a kiss. So Jon obliges.

'Mm.' Martin hums, mouth opening immediately, lips still a little chapped from his daily walks and the way he worries at them with his teeth when he's reading. Then, it's almost as though history is repeating itself, 'Ugh!' Martin groans. A freckled hand pushes at Jon's chest firmly. The toast nearly goes flying.

'Martin?' Their faces hover inches away. Martin's hand fists in Jon's shirt as though he's not sure whether to push him back further or pull him in.

'You're-' He starts. A myriad of expressions play out on his face, unsure, calculating, determined, worried. He pulls Jon closer again and their lips meet in a gentle closed-mouth kiss. The softness of it makes Jon feel momentarily light-headed. A breath spills from Martin's lips and Jon takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss until he can taste the butter on Martin's tongue. Jon melts a little at the richness of it and almost slips off the sofa in surprise as Martin shoves him away again.

'I can't - you're-' Martin bites his lower lip, trapping the adjective on his tongue. He looks incredibly sheepish. Jon frowns, panting.

'What?'

'You're too spicy.'

Jon falls backwards with laughter. He's lucky Martin left his book in the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> title from water over fire by roo panes  
> thanks for reading!


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